


My Random Works

by Faith_Sama



Category: Original Work
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2019-06-23 17:30:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 50
Words: 17,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15611361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faith_Sama/pseuds/Faith_Sama
Summary: The random short stories that I've come up with in my spare time; most are the product of single word prompts, others are just ideas that I had to jot down. Regardless, I hope you enjoy them!





	1. Red Balloon

Red Balloon.

It means more than that, right?

Red balloon, blue sky, bright eyes. Enchanting scents, shy smiles, endless chatter.

A day together.

I remember the day we traveled through the amusement park; the day you bought me the significant red balloon that I still have tied to the knob of my bedroom door.

I remember how you said you’d be there for me no matter what I went through, and that you’d slay any beast that dared to threaten my existence.

You lied.

Well, not entirely. You just left far too soon.

You said that you had your own demons to deal with, your own beasts that you had to rid yourself of, and that I wasn’t meant to worry about it. It would all go away in due time.

It got worse.

The coughing, the cold skin, the tired eyes that signified more. The loss, not only of yourself but of everything you had once held dear.

Loss.

I used to believe that things would get better; that you would come home from that dreaded building and everything would be fixed, and that we could go and spend more well-deserved time at the amusement park.

The red balloon.

“Keep this close,” you had whispered, “remember me when you see it floating.”

It seemed like a boring gift; a gift that you nod in response to receiving and then discard behind closed doors. I used to think that, but now I understand how much it means to me.

You continued to fight even when given the chance to give up. You were presented with the choice of relaxation in your final moments, but you chose the pain of continuing on and seeing what life had to throw at you.

Even as you lay in that hospital bed, your heart monitor beeping to signify the signs of life, you refused to give in. You believed you had a chance.

“Promise me one thing, and one thing only,” you barely parted your lips to utter the words I keep in my heart. “Fly like a red balloon, follow me when your time comes.”

And on the day you took your last breath, the balloon finally gave way, falling to the floor.


	2. Yellow

Yellow.

Bright, blinding yellow.

I’ve heard that it isn’t logical to look directly at the sun, but my prying eyes seemed to have a mind of their own. The hand I held to shield them did absolutely nothing for me, resulting in the temporary blindness I was subjected to.

Yellow.

I remember having to look at that bright yellow shirt during that fateful day, squinting my eyes just to attempt to identify you. Your shiny blonde hair did nothing but make my eyes hurt more, just as the dazzling smile nearly took my vision for good.

Yellow.

Your favorite flower was a bright yellow, tucked in your hair above your ear as you bounced around the open meadow without a care in the world as to who was watching. You spun in endless circles until you dropped, and even then you continued to smile.

Yellow.

The car that flashed before my eyes quicker than I had time to register; the same car that changed your bright and cheery attitude to fear.

Red.

The only color that I could see covering your previous yellow shirt; the color that painted and caked those features that I had come to adore and admire over the many years I had gotten to know you.

Green.

The green bar was the only indication that you were still here with me in this God-forsaken world; that each and every breath you sucked in prolonged the life you wished to lead.

Brown.

There was so much dirt covering the ground the day I got to say my last goodbye; the day I bid you farewell and promised to see you again.

Yellow.

Your favorite flower was yellow.

I guess that’s why I planted it for you.


	3. Brainstorm

There’s so much rain.

Everywhere that I turn, rain follows me to the ends of the earth. A small cloud full of moisture, taking space and blocking out the sun’s rays that I yearn to feel on my skin.

There’s a big storm coming.

It’s been getting colder with each passing day that the drops of water pelt my skin like tiny daggers, drowning out the rest of the world around me.

How long has it been since I’ve seen the sun?

The mud is slick and relentless; my feet have slid out from under me more times than I’d like to count and the mushy brown color now covers my once colorful clothing.

Downpour.

The wind has picked up since I’ve first begun my journey to this dreadful place, though I’ve refused to give up on my journey to my safe place.

Is the rain falling harder?

My clothes stuck to my body with the purpose of trying to drag me down to the earth where I yearn to relax, but if I slow down, even a little, my hopes and dreams for the future are washed away with me in the sickly brown water.

Light?

At the end of the rain cloud, I can see a sunny meadow, filled with flowers of various colors, welcoming me to stay for as long as I’d like. It looks warm and inviting, comfortable and free.

That’s where I yearn to be.

The wind is pulling me by the rim of my shirt, begging me to stay behind with the lonely rain, but my mind is set. I’m going to the sunshine.

My feet drag in the mud with the weight of the pressure, but the moment my foot makes contact with the soft grass of the meadow, I feel liberated.

I’m free.

I’m free.

My thoughts are robbed from me when I hear the applause of hundreds of strangers, and I am reminded once more of my situation.

“You’ve graduated,” my mother had cheered,  _“you’ve graduated!”_

I’m free.


	4. Black and White

Black and white.

The color scheme that has earned its fame.

Zebras, newspapers, old television shows, you name it. Seeing things in a simple way always brought me peace, perhaps because it was the only way I could see things.

All my life has been spent in this world of simplistic color, confused when things such as “Yellow”, “Red”, or “Green” had been brought up in a conversation. I was never truly introduced to such colors as I was incapable of seeing them, but, to be fair, not many could.

It’s a myth, you see.

They say that every person is born with the monochrome sight and that the moment you accomplish something, undetermined by those before us, you gain the right to see the world in varying shades. I grew jealous easily when others around me happily proclaimed their new sight to those around them, upset that I wasn’t worthy of such a sight myself.

Why could I not see the colors?

I want to see the colors too.

“I had just come to terms with my sight when all of a sudden, I could see the colors!” A passerby exclaimed. “I didn’t expect it to happen after all; it’s a mystery!”

Why could they see the colors?

I pondered over a mug of black coffee in my study late into the night, the bright white lamplight stinging my eyes at such a time. It was soothing to see the contrast between the bright and the dark, and soon I began to smile.

Maybe I’m not so bad after all?

Something unexpected happened; something that I wasn’t aware of until I moved my gaze from my light to the room around me.

What are these colors?

They were all so unfamiliar to me; I had no idea what they were but I was overjoyed to see them.

I had solved the myth.

You had to come to terms with being yourself and loving who you are.

Which many seemed unable to do.


	5. Community

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was too much of a coward to post this when it was relevant so allow me to post it now like a fucking idiot :)

This community is the place that I gladly call home; a place where no one is different from the other, nor are they criticized for such. Everywhere that you look, you see another, just like you, who wears their mask to fit in with the rest of the community. ****

Laugh like you mean it!

I remember that slogan being passed around like a tray of bread rolls during a Thanksgiving feast, each of us with our hands outstretched to accept what was being served. Positivity was now spreading throughout the community at an alarming rate, but is it right to call it a bad thing?

Spread the love!

Compliments being dished out left and right to people you’ve never met before in your life and then, in return, a compliment is thrown right back at you. I’ve never seen a community more positive than our own. Even the people who’ve moved in from other communities or the people who move back and forth between them have proudly placed their masks onto their face and have said, “Positive Mental Attitude!”

L͍͎̺͝ả̰̜͇͓̜͍͞ug͐̂̈́̀͐͛͏̺͇̺͚͈ḥ̈̂ͭ̌̋̍ ͯ̍ͭͧͣ̈́̀҉͙̠̙̝̳̮l̫̹̺̥̘̕ȉ̷̺͎̭ͨ̓̊̆̚̚k̮͚͉͉̩͙̣͐́̉͐ͧͩe̲̻̖̥̬͓̿ ̦͈̹̯͙ͯ̋ͨ̀̔y̪o̬̭̱̲̬̔͗̋̚ͅṷͮͭ̃̇̔͟ ̩̼ͧ͂̎͢m͎̯͌͒ͩͭ̎ê̝̙̩̦͂ͅa̬̺̟̳̬̲̼͂͗n̵̫̪͓̠̝͒̆̂ͯ̈ ̀̓ͣ͆̚i̳̥̝̩̋̑̎̾ͨ̄ͪͅͅt̷̹̭̹̔ͮͮ̒̆!̸̘̝̭̦ͫ̈́̑̍̇

Everyone seems so happy to be within this community of people! There are no downsides! Everyone continues to spread the love to those around them! We love one another! Nothing bad could ever happen! Right?

R̵̝̙ͭ̒̏i̹̹̳̗͂̔̆̄̍͝g̯̹̺ͯͨ̈͆͑͜ĥ̝͇̪̣̮̖̫̃͂t̎ͪ̋͟?̝̞͓͖̖͟ͅ

Spread the love to one another! Make everyone as happy as possible! Haha! They all look just like me! Spread the positivity! Spread the positivity! Spread the positivity!  _ **Spread the positivity!**_

_**W̷̞̗̱̊ͦ̈́͗̐̔h̫̻͇͚̀̒ͤ̐͊̌y̥̻͖̮̥̕ ̬̬̦̩̖̺a͔̫̋̃͗̉̚r̅͐́̀̿͊͗ė͍̣̗͍͛͆̿̊̀͞ṅ̶ͭ͌'̦̹̞͓̩̰̋̽ͬ̚ṯ̘͔̆͒ ̶̱̯͎͍̫̻͇ͦ̽̔̿̈́y͖͂̂̽ö͕̟͓̩̹̟̭̆̏̓̌̏u ̠̬͎̺̦̔̾̅ͭ͊ͦẉ̨̩̤̭̔̎̄͂ͧ͋e̸͇͚͔̖̫̣̓̒͛̓̇ͮa̜̣͔͖̳͂̒̽̐̈r̻͖̺̓ͧͣ͑̓̏͊͡i̖̪͚͕̣̥̱ṉ͚͉̙̖g̎͗̀͛͒͛ͬ ̥̮̫̮̳͈ͣ͒̋̿̏̚̚y̶̝͚̯͔̅ͩo̡͔̤̔ͩ͌ͬ̏u͇̯͊r͉̲̰͍̯̯̿ͅ ̘̱̟̙͉̲ͥ̍̉ͩ̚m̪̥̺ͣ͠ḁ̗̫̘͈͋͛͛ͣ̄̃s̙͚̪̘̗̪͊ͭ̓̋͠k͙̬̺͒̊ͥͬ̅̎̂?̺̯̝͙͚̦͆ͦͮ͋͟** _

**Spread the love! This is our community!**

_**W̪̜͆Ḫ̶͖̜͖̓̎͑̅̾̉ͪ͠Y̭͓̻̳͖̖̩͉̪͌̑̃̈́̈͠ ̵͎̘͓̞̲̩̬̣̠ͯ̾͛̈́ͤ̂͂ͤͣA̸̧̱̟̦͙̐ͫͯͫ͠Rͩ͂̂͗̇́̆̂͏̧̙͚̼͎̜̼͘ͅE̹̝̮͈͙̲͕̓͆ͦͨ̉ͦ̚N̈̄̚҉͔̤̱͉̝̝̰'ͧ͋͌̓͏̦̼̝T̶̮̘͎̯̥̅̑́̋͒ͮ ̺͕͒̐ͪͤ̋͡Y̦̊̇͐͂̃ͦ͜Ơ̬̼̯̦͔͓̪͐̄U̥̝̓̎̅ͤ̓̽̑͆ ̠̗̳̑̏W̛̰̫̪̫̭̾͒̇̕͞Ȇ̛̛̦̞͗̈ͪ̎̈͘A̜̭̝͎̠̹̟̻ͤͣͮ̃̋Ȓ̴̻̳͈̺̭̯̺̌ͥͮ̄͒I͚͙͓̲ͪ̓ͬ̒̈́ͤ̈͟͠N͍ͬ̏̏̂͗ͨͮ̉ͬ͟G̷͕̹̰͍͍̝̣̾ͧ̓ͥͤ͂͒͟ ̸̧̮̘͉̤̳̩̎ͩ̉̓Y̢̳̜̟͚̦͖̓ͤͫ͝Ọ̘̜͍̺̻͐̑͂U̸̻̲̳̼̗͉͕̯͒̑̓ͬͫ̑ͬ̓ͧͅR̵̗̟̯̪̻͙̝̦̻̎͢ ̠̫͔̰̺͎̩̜͒͛̉M͉͓͇̭̪̐͜͝A̛̘͈̖̥̺͉̺ͭ͋̈́ͮ͢S̵̫̣̙͈͉͎͐̂̈́̔ͦK͖̮̳̈̽̋ͬ͜͟?̼͉̹̰̌̿ͧ̓̽̄̚̚̕** _


	6. Life

Life takes up the planet. In different climates, you find different creatures. Simple as that.

Death consumes those with life eventually. The living topple over and fade into nothing but a memory. Simple as that.

Or, so I thought.

I thought that the moment when I was gasping for air in that burning building would be my last, yet here I am, supposed to be dead.

I thought that when I was stabbed directly into the heart that I would crumble to the ground and disappear.

I thought that when I slipped and crashed over the guardrail that I would explode into a million pieces.

I keep dying.

But, I can’t die for good?

I’ve taken a bullet straight to the head.

I’ve had my neck snapped like a twig when trying to fight off a flock of burglars.

I’ve consumed pure poison and practically imploded from the pain.

Why can’t I die?

I eventually began to toy with my ability, trying to find strange ways to eliminate myself. I jumped into a machine at the meatpacking industry which not only squashed me like I bug but sawed me in half, jumped directly into an erupting volcano and “sank” to the bottom like a rock before swimming around like I was in a very big hot tub, and even “forgot” to open my parachute when I went skydiving over the weekend.

That’s life for you?

It would probably make more sense if I used my “ability” for the better, but what kind of generic superhero story is that? To become the hero or villain and try to be bested by the opposing side of justice? Who cares about that when I can trap myself in the water under a sheet of ice and get a close-up view of baby seals? Or hop into the aquarium of sharks and scare the life out of the guests?

Why would I become the hero when I can live life to the fullest?


	7. Red

Red symbolizes so much, especially on my favorite day of the year.

Valentine’s day.

You were dressed in that stunning red velvet dress that hugged your figure almost as tight as I had when I first said that I loved you. The dress pooled to the floor around you as if you had materialized out of the blood coursing through your veins, the heels clicking against the hardwood tiles of our home we’ve shared for two years now. The longer I stare, the more of you I seem to take in. You are a goddess to me, and I an ignorant mortal. The way your curls bounced with every step you took swarms my thoughts as I stare at your form, taking in the sight of you sitting on our sofa in the living room.

I remember your stunning smile as you flashed me with your dazzling white teeth, amused by a joke that I had told you to lighten the conversation. Your skin shone in the light of the moon, making you appear to be the light of my darkened life.

I thought that I would never find anything better.

I found the perfect one.

That’s why I refused to let you go.

I had to keep you forever.

I had to have you for myself.

The red dress stuck to your body as it was stained a permanent deep red, the same red that covered my hands as they shook with joy and excitement.

_I had to have you forever._

_You are mine forever._

Your eyes, once a lovely green, dull and lifeless as they looked me in the eye, looking but never seeing.

I will love you forever.

 _ **Forever**_.


	8. Beauty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of you are beautiful :D

What is beauty?

Is it the way their eyes sparkle in the light of the sun and moon as they share their deepest, darkest secrets they’ve trapped in the depths of their soul only to release them like butterflies during a wedding? The eyes that shine the brightest as they look back at you with the same passion and love that you’ve hidden inside you for ten years before they finally expressed the same mutual feelings that you’ve kept from them? The shiny tears that spill from the downcast orbs, be it from a joke that was too much to bear or something that was bottled for far too long?

What is beauty?

Is it the smile you see as their cheeks are painted in a lovely shade of pink while you stare at them from afar? The dazzling teeth that shine as the two of you sit together in the photo-booth and think of all the funny poses you could make to capture that one special moment? The lips that are upturned into that smirk that makes your heart swoon more and more the longer you look and the longer you swoon the dizzier you get, and the dizzier you get the more you almost fall, and all the swooning makes you lightheaded and makes you remember….

What is beauty to  _you?_

Was I not beautiful enough  _for you?_

You’ve lost your chance.

Now?

Now I spin in lovely circles as I playfully dance in the rain that trails down my face and falls like teardrops onto the earthy floor, falling for the ground as I had fallen for you all the while ago.

Now I dress up in things that I feel comfortable wearing because I know that there is no one I must impress on a daily basis; my hair falls in frizzy waves like the waves we watched crash onto the sandy coast as you said, in the convincing tone that I believed with every fiber of my being, “I love you”. Everyone thought that I would come crashing down as the waves had on our sand castle on that day, but I’ve come to see.

I’ve come to see real beauty.

_And it doesn’t need you to thrive._


	9. The Difference in Class

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t judge a book by its cover.

One slouches in a comfortable position as he awaits the next train, tossing a rock every passing minute when he felt the need for a source of entertainment. The small stones would skid across the pavement and teeter over the edge of the platform onto the tracks below. Knowing it to be unwise to go after it, the man would scratch at a crack in the cement beside his bench to create more, praying that his train would arrive soon.

The other sat with their posture straightened and head held high as he scanned the area for people of interest, occasionally spotting people that resembled him and his appearance. He had one leg crossed over the other and a briefcase placed neatly on the ground beside his half of the bench, scrunching his nose in disgust with each person that walked past him without deodorant.

The first man had caught sight of the briefcase and wondered of the possibilities of what was contained within. Was it a nuclear weapon that was broken down into smaller pieces? Was it a case full of money that would be used to settle a business deal with a billionaire? Only the man knew what was contained inside.

The second man furrowed his brows at the gawking man, uneasy with how intent he was to stare at his briefcase. What could a man like him want with a  _briefcase_? It held nothing of interest to him. He should mind his own business!

When the train had  _finally_ arrived at the station the two seemed to rise from the bench at the same time; one with excitement and the other with annoyance. As they gathered onto the train and looked through what seemed to be completely full seats, there was only one seat available, and the two knew what had to happen. Straightening his suit and tightening his grip on his briefcase, the second man shoved past the dorky man, shoes pounding on the floor with the powerful steps he took. It didn’t take long for the lanky man to catch on, and soon he was trailing after the man he could only describe as “moody”.

The suit-wearing man rushed into the seat ignoring the looks he was given as he fixed his tie. There was no doubt that this would be a long train ride, but he refused to give in regardless.

“What are you on the train for?”

The lanky pebble-throwing man was back within his line of vision as he held onto the rail above his head for balance. He seemed genuine enough about his intents, and the snob replied: “I don’t have a vehicle. What about you?”

“Me?” He pointed to himself to make sure that he was indeed being talked back to. When he had confirmed that he had been spoken to, he grinned with genuine happiness,

_**“I’m going to pick up my Lamborghini from the shop; the party last week nearly totaled it.”** _


	10. Angst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone seems to like this one so far, so I guess it’s time to see what AO3 thinks.

His hands trembled with a mix of terror and delight; he wasn’t in control of anything anymore and he was filled with anticipation of what he would do. He watched with bated breath as they approached him in his room, the interrogation room, and ran through every response three times. What would they ask? He was prepared for anything.

 _Why did you do it? Where were you? Do you know them?_  He had thought of them all. Each question that may be relevant to the case was answered several hours ago, the hours he had been left in the room to rot alone with his fast-paced heart and sweaty palms, fingernails unkempt and clawing at his face as he tried to  _escape his own skin--_

He was afraid that he would be labeled a criminal! Why was he here again? What had happened? His leg bounced nervously on the cool tile of the floor as he stared at the one-way glass, throat dry and jaw quivering in fear. What happened?  _What happened?_

His fists clenched on their own. The muscles in his arms tensed the longer he waited in curiosity. You could hear his teeth scraping against one another, his jaw clenched and tense. His eyes were glaring, a piercing gaze, and he felt nothing of what was to come. He was angry, yes, but there was nothing else.

His gaze darted back and forth between the door and the mirror in hopes of getting someone, anyone, to pay attention and come into the room and sort things out. He wouldn’t go against the law! He’s not a bad person!

_He enjoyed every second of it. The feeling of their bones snapping in his hands, the sharp intakes of breath, the blood-curdling screams that shook the small home in the dead of night. It was the most he had felt in a while, the rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins and the power surging through him. Other than that, all he felt was numb._

He wasn’t a murderer!

_He was a murderer._

He wouldn’t harm a fly!

_He would hurt the families._

_**What is wrong with him?** _


	11. Money

_Just take the money and run._

_Just take it and go!_

His body was frozen to the tiled floors of the bank, his breathing harsh and ragged as his head swarmed through the thoughts of what would happen to him. The bomb was set off far before it was intended to, destroying everything in the vicinity and blowing him back onto the floor with enough force to  _break something inside him_. His shaking hands tried numerous times to lift him up and off of the floor before the authorities arrived and sent him away for life, but no matter how hard he tried he always dropped weakly back onto the ground.

_Had she escaped?_

The love of his life, his partner in crime, the one he claimed as his own and threatened anyone that  _dared to challenge him._  Was she able to make it out in time to flee to safety?

_Just take the money and run._

In this profession, it’s almost a  _rule_ that you aren’t allowed to let your feelings get the best of you; that you aren’t supposed to feel anything other than the adrenaline that keeps you moving forward  _all the way to the bank account._  When you become a criminal, you aren’t  _supposed_ to care for the wellbeing of another just in case that  _other_ is the one that you have to put down in your backyard for snitching and warning the police.

_“You don’t care for her”, he told himself, “she was just another pawn for you to use in this game we play.”_

Then why was he concerned?

Maybe because he was dying? His breathing was fast and the world around him was shifting faster than it ever had before as everything around him was fading into a black that he knew he couldn’t escape.

Maybe it was the “I love you”.

Maybe it was the money.


	12. Old

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for this shitty attempt at poetry?

All the stories left untold

As we all grow grey and old.

All the words we’ve left unsaid

Or words we wished we said instead.

You’ve come, you’ve gone, you’ve left, you’ve stayed,

All the times I’ve felt alone and afraid,

Like a pair of socks without the other,

Like a loving father without the mother,

Like the blazing sun without the moon,

You’ve gone so far and have gone too soon.

What will come of the man I am?

All the feelings I’m left to cram

Inside a bottle so fragile and small

Until it shatters against the wall

With picture frames, all torn in two

As a reminder of the day that I left you.

I left you? How could it be?

I complain this much and have yet to see

That it was not my fault; it was surely yours

But that story amongst friends easily bores

And every time I share how distraught I’ve become

I think of the day when two became one.

Is it my fault? I’ll never tell

My feelings for you have dropped, they’ve fell

And now all I can do is hope for the best

I’m nothing special and I can’t compete with the rest

Of the men that have lined up at your feet

All of the men that you’ve yet to meet

Here I am, just another hopeless case

All my feelings that I’m hoping to brace

For the impact of what was I and you

And knowing that you are going from one to two

But this time it is without the man you see now

It is with that useless cow

But our love for each other has surely ceased

_For you, at least._


	13. Gift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been playing Miitopia lately and I couldn’t stop myself.

“Here, I got this for you,” her voice nearly cracked from the pressure that she felt weighing down on her chest with each shaky breath she took as she stood before him, his eyebrows raised in curiosity at the small gift held carelessly in her feeble hands.

“For me? What for?” He had fully turned towards her now, his hands awkwardly rubbing against the side of his robes as he questioned whether he should take the present or not. “I haven’t done anything even remotely helpful…”

“You’ve saved my life numerous times. That’s more than enough.”

Her arms extended further to indicate that she wished for him to grab it, mainly due to the growing worry that her sweaty palms would ruin the wrapping paper she had spent nearly two hours on (her hands got stuck the first five times) and she didn’t want it to be ruined. When he hesitantly grabbed the small box from her he looked down at it before eventually pulling off the ribbon and watching it come undone in front of him. He grabbed the lid of the box and lifted it up with bated breath.

A photograph of them together.

He looked up at her to question her, maybe even thank her, but before he could get a word out he realized it would be a waste of breath.

She was gone.

He was a cleric; a man who was tasked with saving the ones around him with all of his might, tossing aside his own wants and needs for the good of others. When he came across the thief on that fateful day he had already vowed to protect her with everything in him. He loved her. It was that simple.

He was supposed to save her.

He was supposed to protect her.

He couldn’t even protect the one who gave him reason to live.

Her gift to him was the memory.

His gift to her was everlasting love.


	14. The Supernatural

_They can **hear** you._

You’ve taken refuge in what appears to be an abandoned clothing factory on the outskirts of town that only a small portion of the population even knew existed. Well, they  _did_ know. They can’t know anything now since they’re dead.

_They can **smell** you._

They’d compliment you like any other  _normal_ human being and be silently praying that you don’t notice anything even remotely  _off_ about them. They’d occasionally run their tongues across their teeth as if they’re worried they’ve gotten something stuck in between them and would say something harmless like:  _“I just had a salad before I got here; I can feel this piece of lettuce pressing up against my gums.”_

_They can **see** you._

They pretend that they’re walking amongst us like normal human beings as they try their best to find an actual walking pattern that doesn’t draw attention. When people joke around or insult them with something along the lines of:  _“You’re so transparent!”_  or  _“I can see right through you!”_  it seems that the person they were talking with always goes missing by the next morning.

_They can **feel** you._

They ask you out on a date to the beach with their dazzling smiles and bright eyes, waiting eagerly for you to join them in the cold, sparkling water. They keep swimming farther and farther away from shore and you  _know_ you can’t leave them behind so you follow after them to try and warn them of the dangers that lurk beneath the surface of the ocean only to discover the danger you’ve put yourself into when  _you’re_ pulled beneath the surface.

_They can **taste** you._

They always seem to have a bandage wrapped around some part of their bodies and the ungodly stench that comes from them no matter how many times they promise that they’ve showered and put on deodorant. They stare into your eyes and their eyes trail further away to your  _face and your arms and that stomach of yours_  and it always confuses the police when they see that you’ve died but the only one who could have killed you died back in 1909…..

They’re taking over life as we know it.

And the human race is only feeding their addiction.


	15. Hatred

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have some content about my OCs

The fire crackled in the dead of night; the flames rising high to match the intensity of the shimmering moon, challenging it to a battle of the light. The stars that showered the deep indigo of the darkness seemed to merely sit back and watch, providing nothing more than support for it’s larger companion. The group of people gathered around the fire seemed to inch closer and closer to the inviting colors, thriving off of the warmth that it provided them. Their weapons were discarded in random locations around them since they found no further use for them at such a time, their armor and other forms of protection lying uselessly beside them. What would come of such a silent night? A night where anything could happen; the moon could dance among the stars in ecstasy while the stars merely watched, the flames could rise higher until they replaced the sun itself, the entire group of people helplessly huddled around the fire could be  _slaughtered like pigs for nothing more than pure hatred coursing through his veins._

He lie in wait the entirety of the night watching, waiting, but for what? He knew nothing of the aggregation of humans before him. He suspected as much, at least. He knew exactly who they were; the timid yet kind boy that was much more than he appeared, the fiery red-headed female who stopped at nothing to get the things she wanted, even the man who sat silently in front of them, his back to our so-called  _“hero”_ , his snow-white hair reflecting the bright oranges and yellows from the fire that burned dangerously before him.  _He_ knew these people, that much he knew, but  _he_ couldn’t seem to remember their names.

_He would._

He made quick work of the younger two, the girl being brought to her knees in a matter of seconds from the sheer force of the blow he delivered to her skull, the boy going soon after with a perfectly timed blade to the chest. Regardless of whether he pierced the heart beating rapidly in the coward’s chest, he knew from the amount of blood spilling from the wound that he would not last much longer. The man behind him was the only one left; all he had to do was turn around and finish him off and he would be rid of them for good, right? He had to keep telling himself that.

_“This is going to be over soon,” he thought. “They’ll be gone for good.”_

When he turned to face the last remaining member of the team all he could feel was an overwhelming sense of disbelief and anxiety flooding over him, crashing into him and making him yearn for that sweet release of death. He did know these people, he knew them quite well, but it was too late for him to take back his mistakes.

This was  _his_ team.

He could only watch as the man from before, the same man who was the only one to accept him for who he was for years on end, looked down at him with no emotion for him. He should be angry, fearful perhaps, maybe even disapproving of the actions he had watched, the events that had unfolded right before his very eyes that he did  _absolutely nothing_  to stop.

“How long have you been here, boy?” His voice was unusually low compared to the voice he was used to hearing each and every passing day that he was around. “How long have you been doing this, again and again in your mind, until you convince yourself that _there are things that are out of your control?_  That I’ve been dead for months now, nearly a year, and you had absolutely nothing to do with it?

_“How long are you going to stand there as I repeat this to you, for the umpteenth time, as you drive your bloodied blade into my heart and watch as I crumble to nothing more but a memory before you? How long will it take for you to realize that the past is in the past; that the friends you’ve killed were a result of the man we followed, that treacherous being that defiled what little sense of humanity you held in your palms, and that you are not at fault for their demise? How long will it take for you to move on, breathe, and accept the hardships you were fated to meet?”_

_The arm of the younger man moved on its own as if he had rehearsed this scene several times before in his head, plunging the weapon deep into the torso of the man he considered a friend, mentor, ally, or **father**. He had no control of what he was doing, and he knew it, and all he could do was sob pitifully as the wound began to take its effect. Through his tears, he watched as the blood spilled to the forest floor with the same eagerness that he felt when first meeting the man before him, his eyes gradually trailing upward to watch the same deep, crimson red gurgle in the mouth of his idol. As his legs shook from the pressure that had been placed on him, he could only watch as the light faded from his eyes, looking but never seeing. He began to drop with the man, his tears now hitting his red palms as he shook violently from what he had done. When everything around him seemed to be spinning and fading to black, he heard a voice. He paused for a moment, halting his crying for a mere second to hear what it had to say before he disappeared into the void around him._

_**“How long will it take for you to realize that this wasn’t your fault?”** _


	16. Hypocrite

Each word that you utter from those scarred, cracked lips never fails to make me trust you. Every fiber of my being knows that you’re not meant to be heard; that every sentence you string together only makes you appear more foolish than you had before. You’ve dug yourself deep into a hole that no one can save you from; you’ve dug a hole that grows deeper by the minute and each lie you share with us only moves us closer to the end you’ve wished for.

Each time you give your advice to the lost and conflicted, you always seem to make them believe you’re more than you are. You pray for peace, you pray for life, you pray for things to go right. You say that you hope they have a good day, that they never have to worry about money or getting a bad job, but it’s all a lie. All you speak is lies.

We watch in horror as the world goes up in flames; the pale moon glowing overhead as the land is tainted red and orange; the world will never be as it once was, though I’m sure that’s what you intended, right?

You’ve granted wished to the people who needed it the most: the girl who had no family to return to was given an adoptive one, the boy with the drug addiction was given the help he needed to cope without needing to resort to things so drastic, the kid who didn’t want to live anymore because they didn’t feel that they could be themselves was given a break to collect their thoughts.

You didn’t help them.

The girl who wanted a family got one; she got a family that treated her like an outcast, abusing and seeing her as nothing more than a  _dog_ because, in their eyes, she was nothing but an orphan, and she should be grateful that they were kind enough to take her into their home.

The boy that did drugs was able to stop; he was able to stop long enough to realize why he had started them in the first place as the memories of his dad kicking him out resurfaced. He went to alcohol next, drinking far more than the legal limit as he hopped into his old Chevy truck. You thought that taking his drugs from him was all that would help him, but instead, they found him dead the next day, his truck at the bottom of a steep hill and crushed like a piece of paper.

The kid was given a break; the break that let them use all their time to think about why they were cast aside, why their family didn’t want them around.  _An artist can’t make it in this world._  That’s what they said, didn’t they? _People like you aren’t worth it. Why come back? Why stick around?_  That’s what you let them think, didn’t you? Is that why we found them a week later, hanging from the ceiling from that warehouse?

_**You don’t care for these people.** _


	17. Full

We creep, our footsteps light and swift as we lurk in the dark. We seek things most do not. We seek what most should. We tread lightly in unknown territory, basking in the memories and thoughts that keep us going. We roll when needed, we leap when we must, we crouch when absolutely necessary.

We must get to our destination.

The trail is dark; it’s covered with shadows due to the overhanging branches from the canopy above, the rain has turned the path into a muddy dream, the animals that once were bustling about with energy have all stepped down and have permanently gone to sleep. He keeps you going, though. He doesn’t want you to miss out.

He is a friend.

He scuttles at your side and nudges you when you fall, even helping to wipe off all the mud he can from your clothes. He doesn’t speak. Hell, he doesn’t make any sound. But he is a friend. He makes sure you get enough sleep for school the next day, he reminds you to take care of yourself even when things are hard, and he makes sure that you know he cares for you. You trust him. You care for him.

He’s your friend.

He bounces along as he scouts out the dangerous path for you, wary of what may be lurking in the dark to attack you. He’s a small thing, that much is certain, but he’s willing to take all that’s thrown at you to keep you safe.

He’s here for you.

He won’t let you fall.

You make it to your destination! You’re safe! He hops in excitement and seems to wish you well as he circles around you. He’s happy for you too! You did it! Good job!

_You’ve made it to happiness and you have a friend who loves you!_

_**Your heart is full, your life is meaningful, and you are finally happy.** _


	18. Dread

He treads lightly along the hardwood floor, boards creaking with every dainty step he feared would wake the owner of the home. He gazed down the stairs to see how far he had to go, getting nervous upon realizing that he had more stairs than he had initially remembered. The first stair he placed his foot on groaned under the sudden weight even though he wasn’t a large fellow. This place is old. He took things as slow as he could, remembering to be careful not to trip or breathe too loud. What would happen if he was caught? He would get in trouble!

He made his way around the corner when he reached the bottom of the steps, his breathing ragged and his heart pounding in his chest. He saw the outline of the couch very faintly in the dark, his eyes doing their best to adjust to the empty void of the living room so he could find a way to maneuver around what he needed to. He made sure to stay low and out of sight when he heard soft breathing from the sofa, reminding him of what was waiting for him if he failed.

He had to make it to the fridge.


	19. Writing Practice #1: Monologue

“What’s the idea behind forcing yourself to become a better person? Who is to assume that one isn’t the best they can be already? Who is the one to determine the people who must strive to change themselves, for the good of everyone else, and become a person they are not? Why must we change? Why must I change?

“I saw you sitting there with the other woman, rosy red cheeks, and bright, dazzling smiles being thrown at one another. I saw the way you looked her in the eyes with a burning hot passion, the same passion that I felt for you all those years ago. I noticed the way your pale hand dart across the table as she moved to stand, yet your pleading gaze convinced her to stay but a moment longer. I saw you look at her the way you looked at me. I don’t agree with that.

“I pity her; I’ve known you since we were little children bumbling about without a care in the world as to who was watching us, knowing that our game of make-believe would all be over by the morning. We used to attend school together, notes passed in every class thanks to our determination to be in the same room at all times. I remember being stunned when you asked me out, your gaze downcast as you nervously rubbed the side of your arm, worried that our friendship may be ruined. I remember me  _crying my eyes out after you hit me, leaving me to rot in that damn apartment we used to share before we split._

_**“Are you going to do the same to her?”** _


	20. Conservative

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I don’t remember writing this

I keep everything to myself.

Isn’t that a shame?

To know I’ll never share with you

The thoughts that keep me sane

What about the thoughts that break

My mind and soul to shreds?

But what’s it matter to someone like you

When my mouth is sewn with threads?

There’s nothing that you actually know

About the insane mistake that I am

Though you seem to jump to conclusions quick enough

Like you actually give a damn

Go on and leave me

I’m not surprised

That you run from me

When you see my eyes

I’m not surprised when you glare at me

Your eyes burning with hate

For no one could hate me more than I

I think that it’s just fate

You mean nothing to me

Didn’t you know?

You’re pathetic and plain

And not worth a show

So go and leave

We’ll see what happens

To both you and I

_Now isn’t that a twist?_


	21. Writing Practice #2: Description

The narrow boy sat at the table on his own, his gaze shifting from one person to the next as he sat in the cafeteria. School wasn’t his favorite thing in the world, but no matter how hard he tried to will himself to stay home, he knew the school would pull some bullshit out of their asses and get him in trouble. He wasn’t anything special; his skin was a medium brown that was almost always hidden by a long sleeve shirt, mid-length, curly brown hair that he found himself messing with when he got nervous (which seemed to be very often), and dark brown eyes that he remembers being called “small” when he was in elementary school (why he remembers this confuses him too, but it seems that he can’t forget any embarrassing encounter). He was very short for a fifteen-year-old male, often being used as an armrest for his peers when he stopped in the hall to gather his belongings from his locker. He’s of average weight, though has a narrow build.

He was considered the mouse. He was always too small and frightened by anything.

He sat in the cafeteria with a slim finger twirling his hair around and around and around and around… God, why couldn’t he do anything else? He was too scared to move, to think, to exist. All he could do was twirl his hair around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around and around.

The walls were cracked and peeling like the wall itself was trying to escape. The walls were a dull gray color that never seemed to be painted over, even when some of the other students wrote on them with sharpie markers. There was nothing but cheap lawn chairs for people to sit in and the foldable tables for the students to eat off of, all of which used to be bright white before going through the wrath of the teenagers. The lights overhead occasionally flickered, and one even went out completely, leaving the whole right side of the cafeteria to dwell in the darkness. It was a ratty old place, but he knew it all too well.


	22. Obedient

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These are my OCs! Enjoy!

Obedience.

Compliance with an order, request, or law or submission to another's authority.

Working for elite assassins was a task that many seemed capable of doing, yet some didn’t like the ruthlessness of the tasks assigned. Many a man would become one of the strongest killers in the village yet many backed out once aware of what the job entailed. You never knew when you would have to be forced to kill an old friend, slaughter a family that threatened the safety of your neighbors, or even go after your own family and have them repent for their crimes.

Ani was one such man. He was fairly young for one of the assassins, joining when he was only fifteen years old. He graduated top of his class when he was seven years of age, being deemed too strong for the school and the lessons it taught. He worked hard day in and day out, hardly accepting praise so he could work even harder to become stronger. His little brother was born around the same time Ani had graduated, which not only filled him with a sense of joy but also filled the young boy with a sense of duty. He had to protect his little brother.

That was why he had stopped being an assassin.

Ani took pride in being one of the elite, never home to see his family as he found his job for the good of everyone to be far too important. He would leave the village just as soon as he would return from a mission, placing his mask on his face as he set out to do the leader’s bidding.

_But what if he was forced to kill his brother?_

Kenji was seven years younger than Ani, striving to be just as strong a man as his elder brother. He worked hard for the best grades, tried to get the same title his older brother had, and even asked for assistance even though he found it fairly difficult. He wanted to be a good man.

_Their parents didn’t feel the same way._

Kenji was mistreated, and that’s putting it lightly. He had his mother’s hotheadedness and was quick to retort when spoken to, often getting yelled at for no real reason because he “wasn’t as good as Ani”. Kenji waited day in and day out for the day he would receive just the smallest bit of praise, hoping and praying that he would be seen in the same light.

He wasn’t.

Maybe that’s why he ran away.

_Maybe that’s why became a criminal._

_And Ani did not want to be the last thing the boy saw._

_The older brother he hated with a burning passion._

_**Is it best to be obedient? Or is it better to have emotion?** _


	23. Who are you–really?

Things are complicated.

We hear this a lot, I get it, but there really isn’t anything else that I can say. It’s only second period and not only am I getting accustomed to being a Senior but apparently, I’m also a college student as well? If my head wasn’t stressed before showing up it sure as hell is now.

I’m an author.

I spend hours in front of a computer screen, back hunched and eyes drooping as I stare at the same sentence for another twenty minutes. I use countless notebooks to keep track of my racing thoughts, my brain spinning and screaming for me to write down my ideas. The works that I complete feel worthless to me, but these works are my own.

I’m a student.

I wake up every morning before I’d like to, dragging myself from my bed as my limbs do their own thing. I get dressed, do what hygiene things I may need, and ready myself for another day of classes. It’s a schedule that I disagree with but I know it all too well.

I’m tired.

There are not enough words in the English language that can describe just how  _eternally exhausted_  I am. I sleep and wake up exhausted, I keep myself busy and stay exhausted, I even attempt to function like a normal human being and it still never works for me in the end as my feet drag my figure back into the comfort of my bedroom once more.

I’m complicated.

At times I feel like such a nice person, holding open doors for people who seem to be lagging behind me and hoping for each and every person to find something worth smiling about as they go about their day. Other times, I feel like the worst person on the planet; nothing matters to me, not in the slightest, and my ability to care for things (myself included) tends to be off as I struggle to find a reason to get up in the morning.

I’m Faith.

And I wouldn’t have it any other way.


	24. Laundry

“Can you do the laundry?”

The voice rang out through the halls, echoing down the dark abyss in hopes of reaching a certain pair of ears. The longer the time passed the more she was filled with worry; he never took this long to respond to her request, always finding the time to accept and move on with the task. He was usually found sitting at his desk at this time, book propped open as he studied in hopes of a better education. He had things he wished to do with his future and he would stop at nothing to achieve them.

“Okay, no response; can you tell your brother to come and take out the trash?”

The question seemed to float about, buzzing around the small home as it looked for its path to follow. Would it get to where it needed to be? Perhaps. What she needed right now was for some form of response. A grunt, a chirp, even a small screech to let her know that her words weren’t being ignored.

She’s being ignored.

She huffed, hands finding their way to her hips as her cheeks swelled to let out an exaggerated sigh. There was no way that neither of her sons had heard her! The house is only so big! Was this some kind of joke? Perhaps she should have expected it from the younger of the two, but the elder as well? This was ridiculous!

“I’m coming back there! If I find you two are doing this as a prank I’m going to hit you over the head with the broom!” Staying true to her word she grabbed the broom from the closet nearest her, yanking the handle with enough force to knock everything else inside over. With quick footsteps, she stormed down the hall, bristles scratching against the carpet as she made her way to the bedroom the brothers shared. Her pale, dainty hand reached out and grabbed the cold door handle, twisting it just enough for the door to give way, opening to reveal the room before her.

It was empty.

The lights that usually brightened the room weren’t on, leaving the shadows on the wall to appear large and unforgiving. The desk that was typically occupied was empty, the stacks of books discarded and seemingly boxed up and kept away. The beds were neat and tidy. Nothing was messed with.

_They were gone for good._

_**She missed them.** _


	25. A Mistake




Are you getting  _old_? Are you constantly forgetting where you put your wallet? Are you forgetting that your son has a key and can get in the house without notifying you? Good luck, granny! We can’t save you from  _that_ heart attack, but we  _can_ save you from losing your credit card again! With our new technology that you won’t be able to pronounce, we’ve come up with a new way to alert you as to where your credit card is kept (if you even know what that is)! With our necklace that looks oddly like a life alert, you won’t have to worry about losing your money ever again! With one click of a button, you too can find your card thanks to the alarm system we’ve implemented into each and every card! As soon as the button is pressed a loud siren will go off, alerting you of the card’s position in your home! If you own both a life alert and a C.A.R.D. (Card Alert is Really Deafening) you may want to label them so you won’t get confused, that way you can’t sue us for giving you a heart attack or something you funky little individual! 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was some kind of joke I made for class where we were given three topics/subjects/etc. and you had to make something of it. My three were elderly women, a lost credit card, and humor. You see the issue?


	26. Orange

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’VE ABANDONED MY BOY

The sun peeked through the canopy of trees, blinding the boy who was resting on the forest floor. With a frail hand to shield his eyes, the boy moved to sit up and straighten out his aching back. Where was he? Good question; the boy seemed to have absolutely no idea where he was or what his purpose had been, but with an “everything happens for a reason” mindset he was sure that he would be fine.

Something nudging the side of his right leg snatched him from his thoughts, his gaze darting to what he expected to be a small woodland creature looking for something to eat.

What  _was_ this thing?

It was small, maybe the size of a medium sized stuffed animal which, for a moment, is what he confused it for. It was a snow white color with fur that made it resemble a cloud, black eyes that held no ill will, and little black legs that oddly reminded the boy of Mr. Krabs from Spongebob. The longer he seemed to stare at the creature the more the creature pushed against his leg, hoping to grab his attention from his daze.

“What?"

It was a fair question to ask considering he was completely lost with a walking cotton ball trying to get him to move. Who was he? Where was he? Did this thing belong to him? Was that why it was so intent to have him pay attention?  _What is happening right now?_

He looked up, the orange glow of the setting sun blinding him again.




_He had quite a few questions._


	27. Force of Nature

When pushed to the limits, we can sometimes manage things that no one else would believe. We grow stronger, sturdier, faster, whatever it is we need to succeed. There is no looking back on what we were before; we are forbidden to take so much as a  _ peek  _ at what used to be as we carry on towards a brighter future. A brighter future for the good of man. 

Become a force of nature. 

“What has come of you, traveler? Hast thou not strengthened thy spirit?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Hast thou no sense? Speak to me as a real man would!”

_ “What the fuck are you saying?” _

I must admit that when it came to adjusting to my surroundings, I was a definite failure. There were many men marching around in armor that I was sure would drag them down farther than the depths of hell, women walking around in these weird gown things that made them look like they were older than they actually were, and children in ratty clothes that could have been directly pulled from a garbage bin. They all talked funny too; every sentence that I had managed to listen in on had me just as confused as I’d be if they were talking in another language entirely. 

The woman who works in the general store gives me funny looks when I ask her about the things she sells and I’m forced to watch her expression to contort into that of confusion as I ask her if she has a cell phone charger. When I go to pay for what looks like a bag of something she thinks will “help me” she has to bite her tongue when she sees me pull a five dollar bill from my zebra patterned wallet (I don’t even remember getting it; it must have been one of the parties I went to last week).

These forces of nature have some explaining to do because I have  _ no idea where I am and what I’m supposed to do. _


	28. Pretending

_ Pretending. _

The moon was bright overhead as he packed up his remaining belongings; there wasn’t much for him to grab but he still proceeded to handle each item with caution. The deep crimson red that stained both he and his tools was quickly becoming nothing more than another mess for him to clean later. 

_ Pretending. _

The house he arrived at was dark and eerie; the family that lived there had turned in long before he had decided to make an appearance, making his job easier for him. His large boots thumped against the porch as he easily picked the lock to get inside, his large hands twisting the shimmering handle and swinging the door open wide, making it slam into the adjacent wall. 

_ Pretending. _

The man of the house, or so he presumed, was sleeping peacefully on the couch, his snores drowning out the footsteps that pad over to him with dark intentions. 

_ The saw will do. _

He didn’t care who heard him. He drew his common shed tool, a handheld saw, and relished in the way it shone in the light of the moon. He knew what he was about to do would be a dangerous crime, but nothing to him mattered anymore. The deep red that would forever stain the walls and his innocence was all he cared for. 

_ He would pretend. _

_ He would put on a show for those damned cops. _


	29. Relationships

She sat in the empty room, the walls a fading white color with paint peeling in certain creases; her voice was raspy and her eyes were burning as she struggled against her restraints in hopes of being reunited with those she held dear. Her family was a special one, that was certain, though there was no doubt that they were loyal to one another in the end. She was determined to free herself no matter what it cost her, as long as she was able to be with her family.

Would her older brother be okay? He had the tendency to take things to heart, crying over any little insult and believing anyone when they phrased it the right way. She had pictures of her brother flash in her mind, him beaten and defeated on the floor of his own room as he forced himself not to cry. What had he done? Well, knowing him, nothing. He was the sweetest boy in this town. There’s no way he would get free on his own!

What about her mother? She was always so calm and composed as she thought through a situation before it was even an option. She always had a plan to get in and out of things if need be, taking control in even the toughest of times. Was she okay? Did she still have a plan to get out of her cell? Has she predicted everything that would happen? There’s no way that she could have forgotten about something, right? 

Is her father okay? He was never the type to speak up when confronted, though he was able to fend for himself fairly well. Hell, her whole family was able to fend for themselves. Would he be trying his best to reason with them? Would he be sitting in silence as he let everything unfold on its own? Had he taken any beatings that he surely didn’t deserve? Who’s to say that he hasn’t fought back? 

She struggled in her chains once more, teeth gritting as she wiggled and growled angrily. She had to find a way to get out herself. She was determined to save them, no matter what it took.

A sudden kick on the door shook her from her thoughts, her gaze darting to the doorway where the silhouette stood menacingly. Her struggling had ceased, her eyes widening in fear of what was to come. Was this it? Was this where she would die? 

_ “Oh, hey! That was pretty lucky!” _

That cheerful voice was something she wasn’t expecting from the dramatic entrance she had just witnessed. She squinted to try and get a better glimpse of who had appeared to be her savior, but the longer she looked the more she couldn’t believe it.

Her happy, friendly brother stood in the doorway, covered in bruises and cuts with a goofy smile on his face.

_ “Let’s go get mom and dad!” _

She had a special relationship with her family, that much she was certain of.

_ Though she had to admit that she had quite a bit she needed to learn. _


	30. Red (Again)

She looked through the baskets full of clothing, a quick exhale of relief escaping as she saw they were all clean. She had been doing laundry all day, grabbing at various clothing items as she tossed them back and forth between baskets, the washing machine, the dryer, another basket, the counter, you name it. She was tired of sorting through them all. 

She heard the front door open as she moved towards the living area with an empty basket under her arm, her head poking around the corner to get a quick peek at who had come inside. When she saw her eldest son closing the door behind him, she huffed and puffed her cheeks out.

“Where is your brother?”

“What? Oh, him; I think he had something to do with his class today, but I can go and check if you want?”

“No,” she mumbled, setting the basket down on a nearby table, “there’s no need.”

An idea crossed her mind as she stood there in silence, her son giving her a funny look for blanking out. When she was able to remember what it was she was meaning to bring up, a bright smile was plastered on her face.

“Hey, I wanna show you something!” She moved her hand in a ‘follow me’ way and made a quick dash for her bedroom, her son following reluctantly behind. She would look back every so often and catch a quick glimpse of his red shirt, giggling at the way he looked when he made eye contact. 

When the two reached the bedroom, she reached under the bed she shared with her husband and pulled out a box that was covered in a layer of dust, a quick blow sending the particles up into the air as well as making her son cough.

“I planned on giving this to your brother for his eighteenth birthday--!”

A harsh knock on the door of their home shook the walls and the two in the small bedroom, her skeleton nearly jumping out of her skin at the sound. There was a quick “I’ll get it!” from her husband, though the shattering of glass was quick to send the two into a panic.   
  
_“Quick, you have to hide!”_

She said it to her son rather quickly, almost as if she expected this to happen. She watched him frantically search for a hiding spot as she dashed from the room, the box tumbling to the floor as she stumbled back to the living room.

Her husband lay in a pool of red.

It happened quicker than she anticipated; she looked up from the body of her lover in fear, seeing the same man step towards her with the same weapon that stole the light from her husband’s bright, blue gaze.

_ All she could see was red.  _

_ It was the last thing she would  _ **_ever_ ** _ see. _


	31. Ocean

Her eyes, such a lovely shade of blue, seemed to contain the entirety of the ocean within them. Though her face tended to lack any serious expression, the soft look she gave was enough to drown you. When she was upset, she never gave off the impression that you were in trouble, rather she would give you  _ that  _ look that her family knew all too well; she would give that smile, lips turned ever so slightly upward as her gaze softened, filling you with her own form of dread. She wasn’t angry, she wasn’t sad, she was  _ disappointed.  _

My, how he missed that look.

He could see it now; he’d be hunched over his writing desk until the crack of dawn, ideas for new novels swirling through his mind a mile a minute. The door would creak open as she stepped inside, the soft clunk showing that she was inside. When his head would pick itself up from the countless number of papers that littered his workspace, he would see it. He would see  _ her.  _ Her eyes alone would make him feel so guilty, the soft smile urging him to put his work on hold so he could go and rest by her side. 

He missed her.

She was taken far too soon; she was ambushed, the men appearing from nowhere as they ganged up on her, overpowering her and doing her in for good. She did the best she could to fend for herself but it seemed that the more she fought the more men that appeared before those pooling orbs.

_ It wasn’t fair. _

He was left to raise three children on his own, the youngest daughter looking up to him with the same blue eyes her mother held as she sobbed and asked for the umpteenth time where her mother was. He would force a smile, a smile that was nowhere near as comforting as hers, and place his hands on her small, feeble shoulders as he told her that everything was going to be okay. Everything was going to be okay. Everything is okay.

_ Is it? _

He sat hunched over the desk, his hand mindlessly dragging his pen across the paper to form some sentence that made zero sense. His eyelids sagged, the bags under his eyes grew darker with each passing day, and his face was reddened and puffy from the tears he hid from his children. He read over the paper before clicking his pen, moving to head off to bed on his own.

**_“I love you.”_ **


	32. Black and White (Again)

She sat on the bench, hands messing with the fabric of her bright yellow shirt as she anticipated what would happen. Her husband was out and about, weaving his way through the crowds as he snagged the attention of all who passed him to get the answers the two needed to hear, but it seemed as if no one had any idea of what they were asking.

_ Where was her son? _

Her son wasn’t one to stray too far, being fairly responsible and able to take care of himself if he needed. He went out last night in search of his friend who he hadn’t seen in a little over a month, though the real concern was that he  _ didn’t come back home. _

_ He couldn’t have gotten lost; he’s lived here all his life and knows each and every nook and cranny that the town held.  _

Her heart seemed to have a mind of its own as it sped up unexpectedly, her breaths soon becoming quick and ragged as tears threatened to spill from her eyes. This was her son! She didn’t lose her son, right? What kind of parent would she be? 

A small hand on her knee robbed her of her thoughts, her once bright blue eyes darting to what it was that had touched her. When she saw the blonde pigtails of the little girl in front of her she swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, refusing to break down in front of her daughter.

“Where’s brother?”

“We don’t know, sweetie,” the mother choked out, “we’re asking for him so we can find him, okay?”

This seemed to reassure the little girl, made obvious by the smile she gave before running off to play with whatever was nearby.

_ Where was he?  _

She wasn’t someone to think negatively; her outlook on life tended to be fairly positive day in and day out, keeping a happy smile on her face as she looked at all the good things in life. The sun was shining, the wind was cool, what could go wrong?

“Mrs.?”

She looked up at the newcomer, recognizing him as one of the police officers that worked in this town. He had a somber expression on his face as he refused to meet her eyes at first, though he soon caved and risked a glance.

_ No. _

_ No. _

_ This can’t be. _

She sobbed, hands masking her face to hide her tears from her small child, the same child who was oblivious to what was happening. Her son, so bright and kind, had met with a terrible fate he didn’t deserve. 

_ Her sweet, innocent son was dead. _


	33. Light Blue

She never understood the appeal. She never understood how something so vast and seemingly empty could mean the world to her daughter. She never understood how something that was hard to look at one moment from how bright it was to something that was the darkest thing the world has come to know was just astounding to her child. 

Is there something she’s missing?

She would take a step out of her house, her bare foot hitting the cool wood of the back porch as she searched for her daughter, bright eyes scanning the back lawn in hopes of spotting that dark, curly head of hair. She found her lying on the ground, eyes trailing over every visible cloud in the light blue sky as she pointed out the various shapes to her younger brother. They would share a laugh at the odd shapes, eyes crinkling as they passed the time with each other by looking at the sky. 

What was appealing?

There would be times when she’d have to step outside just before dinner to grab her daughter, her eyes squinted as she scanned the darkness for her child. She would only see her basking in the light of the moon, eyes twinkling just like the stars she was so intent to see every night before heading off to bed. She’d come in and pass her mother on the way to the dining room, lips turned upward as she listed off each of the constellations she had seen that night. 

What about it is fascinating?

She’d sit on the back porch as she waited for her children to get home, a steaming mug of coffee held tightly in her delicate hands. She would stop looking up at the grey sky every so often to blow on the mug, taking a small sip to warm her inside. It seemed more effective the longer she sat there, her body shivering from the cold and lack of sleep she’d been having thanks to work.

She didn’t get the appeal.

But it was a mystery she was determined to solve.


	34. Tuxedo

She remembers her father wearing that black tuxedo as he rambled on about work, the only time he was ever forced to wear it was when he had an important meeting he had to attend. He always went on about looking the part and how he was hoping he made a good impression. It sounded like the end of the world would take place if he didn’t wear that outfit.

She remembers her father coming home and loosening his tie with a reluctant sigh, lips parted ever so slightly and cheeks reddened from the heat. What didn’t help matters was the suit being black which not only was terrible on its own, but the town had been going through a heatwave which surely suffocated him for most of the day. 

She remembers her older brother wearing a similar tuxedo at family gatherings when they were forced to go, her hand never once leaving her mother’s hand as she wandered around the crowds of unfamiliar people, blue eyes seeming to scan everything and everyone in the area. She had no idea where she was and she refused to drop her guard for even a second, just as her brother had told her.

She remembers seeing her father leave the house in that suit again, another meeting in hopes of appearing ahead of the others. His hair was a little messy, brown curls nearly matted to his head thanks to the faint layer of sweat he’d obtained in the air-conditioned house alone. She couldn’t even begin to imagine how hot it must be outside with something so hot.

She remembers her brother wearing the suit to a party they were all invited to, the two siblings sitting in the corner with crayons and paper in hand as they drew whatever things crossed their minds. Her brother, usually bright and full of energy, was slowly drifting off into unconsciousness, his eyelids drooping the longer the two spent in silence. 

“Isn’t it uncomfortable to sleep in something so stuffy and weird?”

“It is a bit uncomfortable,” he mumbled, “but when you get really tired it doesn’t seem to matter that much.”

Her blonde brows furrowed, nose scrunching as she looked at the suit. There was no way she’d ever sleep in something like that, no matter how sleepy she was! No way!

She remembers her father putting on his tuxedo with reluctance, eyes red and puffy as he made his way for the door, arm extended for her to grab. Her mother was dressed in the same dreadful color as they walked to an unfamiliar place, a large box set out for something. She remembers looking inside the box and seeing her brother, sleeping in the same dreadful tuxedo she hated for him to sleep in.

_ How could he sleep in something so uncomfortable? _


	35. Yikes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes, this is short.

He moved some loose strands of hair behind his ear with a huff, a light coat of sweat masking his forehead. There was so much to do at the moment and he had no time to consider how he was doing at the moment. His body ached from head to toe as he lifted himself off the floor yet again, breathing heavy and limbs screaming for a form of relaxation. 

He had to keep going.

He huffed, each breath a struggle the longer he continued with his actions. He heaved himself from the floor once more, only to lower himself down onto it a moment later. Sure, most could tell you that doing pushups when you’re meant to be calmly sitting in your hospital bed is a stupid and dangerous thing, though getting a message like that through Ari’s brain was a challenge on its own.

He had to keep at it.

When you’re placed in the hospital for something that includes your lungs nearly exploding and your body being sliced like a sheet of paper you shouldn’t really be doing things that include such exertion though Ari wasn’t the brightest in this regard.

Yikes. 


	36. Listen

“You never listen to me when I speak to you! What is your problem, boy?”

He read the lips of his commander, the words spilling out in a jumbled array of empty meanings. His mind was elsewhere the longer he watched their mouth move, their brows furrowed and their fists clenched tight as they rambled on. He had a hard time making sense of what was being said as everything was rushed, though he did seem concerned enough to the point where the commander thought he was concerned about what he was saying.

“Oh, so now you’re listening? You don’t like your position being threatened, do you? If that’s the case, boy, you should listen when your superiors speak to you!”

He was able to make out this line, a frown making its way on his pale face as it replaced the careless look he held before. There wasn’t anything he could respond back with, so he simply nodded slowly to show that he understood.

Listening to people in a higher position was fairly difficult, mainly because listening was a struggle, to begin with. His ears weren’t as good as they used to be. It wasn’t that he had no regard for the rules set before him, he just wasn’t able to hear any longer.

He’s deaf.

The commander took the nod with his nose raised disapprovingly, his hand raising to shoo him away from his office. Now that he was free from a scolding he wasn’t able to hear he had time to go and do something to pass the day by doing something he enjoyed. 

If only he could listen.

  
  


He was in the midst of battle, hands trembling at the sight of the fallen. He was covered from head to toe in things most would cringe at the sight of; blood not only from himself but the allies he had trusted with his life, mud, and gunk from unfamiliar areas that was sure to be a pain in the ass to cleanse himself of, and many wounds that would certainly need a good amount of time to heal. He could see the others on the field as they fought for their lives, battle cries making their way through their scarred and damaged lips as they fought with everything they had in them.

“Kid, look out!”

He couldn’t hear the warning that was nearly shouted at him, though he was quick to notice something flying at him from a distance. The speed of the object alone was too much for him, his life nothing but a distant memory.

_ If only he could listen.  _


	37. Community (Again)

There was always a strong sense of community held within each member of this town, each individual going about their days with the same passion and yearning for a better life not only for themselves but for their fellow neighbors. Day in and day out, smiles would be passed around like dinner rolls on Thanksgiving in hopes of making even the worst day a tad better for the time being. It was a small community, but it was a community nonetheless.

The older man looked to his two pupils in excitement, watching with pride in his deep blue gaze as the pair finally did their routine correctly. They moved and ducked and dodged just as he had previously advised, movements swift and easy as they had practiced for so long. They had it memorized just right and the older man couldn’t be happier.

The couple watched happily as their children played with the other kids, their son helping his little sister on the swings and slides whenever she wanted to use them. He would watch her carefully and help her when she fell, giving a quick kiss to her “boo-boo” as he gave her a warm smile and an “all better!”.

The man sat on the bench not too far away from the couple, a book opened in his lap as he struggled to get the top off his water bottle. He was far too engrossed in his reading that he wasn’t aware that someone had taken his water bottle from him, opened the lid, and placed it back into his hands. When he was aware, he looked up to see his younger sibling shaking his head in an “I can’t believe you” way, his lips struggling to hold back a smile. 

A family sat on the grass nearby, a blanket laid out on the rolling green hills with baskets of food ready to feed them all. The mother and father were sure to unpack everything for their children as they all shared warm smiles, the group happy to be in the presence of one another.

A man sat in front of his son with flashcards, glasses slipping down his nose as he signed the things on the cards for his son to understand. His son was no longer able to hear like that of a normal person and he was determined to help him the best he could.

They were together.

They were a community.


	38. Passion

He was always one to struggle when it came to sharing something he was passionate about. He remembers sitting in his classroom surrounded with many other students as they shared things that they were pleased to be interested in, one kid mentioning their obsession with knives and weapons as they hoped to open a shop for them in the future, another kid with an odd haircut mentioning that he was passionate about becoming a strong fighter even though he wasn’t as talented as the rest.

What was he passionate about?

His thumbs brushed against the side of his notebook, the metal spiraling to hold the pages together to contain his thoughts. His teacher continued to ramble on about how having something passionate to fight for is good in this world, that having something that makes you put one foot in front of the other isn’t as bad as you may think. He said that no matter what it is that’s going on in your life that having something to save you from that sense of hopelessness is the light in the darkened tunnel you may need.

He walked home that day, rain beating down on his messy black hair as the rain made sure to flatten it down to the point of covering his eyes. He was sure to keep his head down to make sure he would be able to have some sense of direction, though the moment he caught sight of the familiar home he had grown up in he took in a large intake of breath. It was stunning from the outside, large oak doors inviting him to finally come inside and take a break. If it wasn’t for the people that were inside he would go rushing towards it. 

He and his brother always seemed to butt heads, his brother being the brains of the family and only setting higher standards for him taking its toll on the young boy. He was reminded each and every day that his brother was sure to accomplish big things when he grew older, his passion for learning and making something of himself driving him forward to look at each new day as another opportunity. He was constantly comparing his grade’s thanks to the endless praise his elder sibling received which only made him more and more resentful.

He didn’t have a passion.

He only had these powerful thoughts.


	39. Acceptance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)

He never felt accepted.

His parents treated him as an outcast, never good enough to meet their ridiculously high standards. His elder brother was a child genius who never made any mistakes, so he had to follow the same path, right? He had to graduate from the academy at an early age and become one of the village’s elite assassins all before the age of fourteen years old. He had to score perfectly on every test until then and rid the world of every evil that just happened to threat their lovely home.

Perfect Ani.

Kenji watched his fourteen-year-old brother at the mere age of seven as he was promoted to the rank of jonin; the party held to celebrate him was large and extravagant as everyone that just so happened to know anything of the family had made sure to show up in their best suits and dresses, faces never dropping as they spewed compliments that fell on his ears. His brother had promised to play with him today since he was usually too busy to leave his room, but Kenji watched as he was dragged away by a small group of family friends.

Perfect Ani.

Even as he packed his belongings to leave the house for good, his parents treated him like a circus freak who was meant to be caged, only shown to the people for a good laugh or trick. He wasn’t anything to them if he wasn’t able to fit the role. With his bags gripped tight and the weight on his shoulders lifted he made his way to the front door, his head held high and his gaze determined.

Perfect Ani.

His brother had stopped him before he had left, Ani’s pooling blue gaze seeming to drown out every harsh word Kenji wished to say. He looked like he knew there was nothing left for him to do, that even as the older brother he wasn’t able to take control of the situation any longer. He held out a hand with reluctance, a sad smile gracing his pale lips.

_**“You’re still my little brother.”** _

Perfect Ani.

_Perfect Ani._


	40. Blue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does Ari is gay?

There was a certain tint of blue in his eyes that set him apart from the others, his eyes gleaming in the light of the bright summer day. He never held a frown on that face of his, tanned lips lifted upwards as he showed that dazzling smile that had most swooning. His long hair was currently kept back in a low, messy bun to get it out of his way, a few strands breaking free that he’d occasionally be forced to swipe behind his ear.

There was a certain bright blue in the sky overhead that he’d find himself gazing upon when he had but a moment of free time. Sweat was gleaming on his forehead from the work he was made to do day in and day out, though taking one look up at the puffy white clouds and the free blue sky was enough to give him so much energy to complete his task.

There was a certain shade of blue he had come to adore, mainly because it was the color a certain  _someone_ was made to wear. It was a darker blue, the kind of blue that you’d mistake for black the longer you’d look at it. The kind of blue that has absolutely no business being that dark of a color as well as having absolutely no business _looking so good on him._

There was a certain man.

And Ari certainly adores him.


	41. Peace

He was filled with a sense of peace as he lay on the forest floor, eyes gazing up at the canopy of trees that rose high above his head. His hands lay on his stomach and his breathing was ragged, chest rising and falling rapidly as he attempted to remain calm. There were deep gashes on his arm and torso that were sure to get infected without proper treatment, but as his vision slowly began to fade to black he knew it wouldn’t matter in the end.

_“Can you teach me how to do this shot?”_

_His little brother looked at him expectantly, eyes bright and full of life as he awaits an answer. The basketball in his hands was nearly as big as his head though he paid it no mind as he hopped up and down in excitement. Deciding against leaving his brother to play alone, he took the ball from the small hands and walked with him over to their makeshift goal._

_“Just bend your knees and toss it,” he said, “just don’t do anything weird and it should get in the goal. Don’t throw it too hard or too gentle or it won’t make it.”_

_He watched his brother take the stance immediately after the words left his lips, forcing himself to hold back a snicker at the determined face his brother was making. As he went to throw the ball, he did this little hop along with it to help the ball go higher thanks to his shorter size, watching with bated breath as it soared through the air._

_Swish!_

_His brother jumped and cheered with enthusiasm the moment the ball went through the hoop, his little arms wrapping around his sibling to thank him for his advice._

His leg moved feebly as he made some attempt to move his aching limbs though nothing came of it as it soon dropped to the ground once more. His lungs burned thanks to some gases he had breathed in only moments prior, vision blurry and coughs breaking the silence.

He wanted peace.

He wanted his brother to be okay.

He didn’t want his brother to kill him.


	42. Pens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eww it’s something about me this time

The pen moved across the blank sheet of paper eagerly, the words flowing together smoothly to help get out the thoughts. She pictured worlds far different from her own, characters deep and complex, and situations she knew she would never see for herself. There was so much running through her mind the longer the ink formed sentences, the pen seemingly moving on its own as she blanked. She had visions for the places she wished to see, the people she wished to meet, the scenarios she wished to experience, and there was no better way to do so than by creating them with her own hand.

Her back ached from sitting in the same hunched position as she continued to write what she wished would be shared, an occasional smile popping up as she thought over the things that  _could_ be. The things that she yearned for the most. The lives she wished to experience.

When her pen reached the end of the page she was quick to flip it to another, her train of thought never stopped or thrown off; she always had some idea of where she was going even if she wasn’t always fond of it, though she held her pen with courage and continued to trek through the unknown.

The paper was once again filled with words that complement one another nicely, her notebook progressively filling with more and more words with each passing minute of the day. She had bags under her eyes, messy hair, and baggy clothing, but she was sure to keep writing no matter what the costs were.

She was tired though she refused to show it. She was terrible at verbally communicating so she would rely on her pen and paper to express herself. She was always worried that what she’s doing is wrong or boring no matter how many times people have assured her. She takes the pen and keeps writing, hoping that someday she’ll eventually come to terms with the person she’s become.

She relies on her pen.

She is me.


	43. Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to let everyone down but this one is about me

She dreams of a world where she’s deemed important; the people that she surrounds herself with treat her with the respect she’s spent her whole life searching for, the characters and worlds that she’s made up in her mind exist and remind her that she’s made something worthwhile, that the things she’s wished to do over the years are able to be accomplished without her being told that it’s impossible.

She dreams of waking up each and every day with a smile on her face, a new reason to wake up each time. She thinks about being able to sit up in bed so early in the morning and smile at the thoughts of everything she’s going to accomplish that day, knowing that she has a full life ahead of her where anything can happen.

She dreams of getting a good night of resting in, not plagued by her racing thoughts and hallucinations that haunt every waking moment of the night. She thinks of being able to rest her head against her pillow and closing her eyes, her blanket not forced over her head because she fears the things she’ll see if she takes a quick peek around her. She thinks of only happy things racking her thoughts the moment her eyes close as she drifts into the comfortable state of unconsciousness where sleep and dreams engulf her.

She dreams of not finding each waking moment a struggle or obstacle to overcome that’s only there to cause her but another moment of grief. She thinks about doing her daily tasks with enthusiasm rather than with reluctance, her mind never gnawing at her for making even the slightest mistake. She thinks about being satisfied with where she is and where she’s going. She doesn’t fear to age any longer and lives out her life to the fullest.

She dreams of no longer trying to keep herself together. She’s fine just as she is.

She’s horrid in person, and she dreams of changing.

She’s nothing important any longer.

She’s me.

And I’m dreaming for something better, anything better than the mess you see before you today. I’m dreaming for things to go my way for once without seeming needy. I’m dreaming of a better life. I’m dreaming of things that may never come true.

I’m a dreamer and it’s all I have left.


	44. Eye Candy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takuma and Ari are my BOYS and I LOVE THEM

He sat on the bench just on the outskirts of the small park, book propped open with one hand while the other rested on a water bottle he messed with from time to time. His attention was solely focused on the story he held in his hand, mind soaring through the world the assortment of words had made for him. Nothing could take him from the piece of eye candy before him.

The younger boy sat beside him on the bench with a huff, his face dripping with sweat and his large black glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose. He collapsed more than he sat down, treating the bench as if it were his own sofa as his chest continued to rise and fall rapidly. He took one look at the older man who was busy reading a book, the younger’s attention grabbed by the title.

“What the hell are you reading?”

The elder man, Ari, looked to the teenage boy with a brow raised as he looked over his current state. It wasn’t often he was willing to look up from his book to acknowledge whatever had decided to disturb him so the fact that he was looking at a sweaty child annoyed him greatly.

“What does it matter?”

The teen’s brows furrowed at this, his cheeks inflating as he left out an impatient huff to signify that he wasn’t looking for an answer like that. His eyes skimmed the title once more before looking in a different direction, hoping and praying that his older brother would show soon to take him home.

_“I was just asking, buddy. Don’t get your panties in a wad.”_

Ari had never wanted to slap the shit out of a kid so bad before, his hand nearly tearing the lid off his water bottle in the process of cooling down. First, the child had the nerve to interrupt him from reading peacefully by calling out to him and ruining his sense of smell thanks to the whiff of sweat he caught, but now the kid thought that getting an attitude was appropriate.

_Way to ruin his eye candy, kid._


	45. The Future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What the fuck is this supposed to be?

Blood caked the left side of her face thanks to a harsh swing by a baseball bat she took not too long ago, her nose dripping the same crimson liquid thanks to her nose smacking the pavement at her feet. Her body and muscles screamed for her to stay on the ground where she had fallen, her eyes going against her and hiding behind her eyelids so she wouldn’t be made to see her surroundings. Had she kept her mouth shut, none of this would have happened to her in the first place.

All because of her interference.

She listened to the cries of fear from her friends as they tried to get her attention, one after the other as they urged her to get up off the ground. She couldn’t bring herself to move more than an inch or so before giving up thanks to the throbbing pain ringing about in her skull.

“Please, get up!”

Their words meant nothing as she lay there to rot, her mind slowly tugging her towards the black void that is unconsciousness; there was nothing she could do to stop it until she heard the padding of footsteps retreating from her pitiful form, the large, booming steps from the steel-toed boots getting closer and closer to the friends she was so eager to protect.

She wasn’t going to let that happen.

It took every ounce of energy for her to rise to her feet, the task harder than expected thanks to her wrists that were tightly bound together with handcuffs. She nearly collapsed on multiple occasions though once her feet were securely beneath her she held her ground with the strength she needed to carry on.

_“I’m counting this as an interference,” she said, her eyes locking with the same man who had deemed her friends fit for his torture._

My, what the future held in store for her.


	46. Beach

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fucking love this one, fellas

He lay comfortably on his pale blue beach towel, his glasses over his eyes and his arms resting behind his head as a small pillow against the lumps of sand he found himself on. His umbrella was propped up in the sand to his right to provide some shade from the sun’s harsh, beaming rays so he wouldn’t go home a lobster instead of a man. He shifted every other minute to ensure there wasn’t any sand underneath his swimming trunks, pulling the wedgie out so he could lay back down and rest some more.

_**“SOMEONE HELP! PLEASE!”** _

He sighed happily and ignored the calls for help, his right leg bending for him to prop his left one over it, the left slowly bouncing in a soothing rhythm. There was another screech and a loud crash followed by angry, fearful yelling that he wished he could block out. Remembering the earplugs he had in the bag that was near the pole of the umbrella he moved only his arm to try finding them without too much effort, thankfully finding them before having to sit up and ruin the moment he made for himself.

The moment he put the earplugs in his ears, he was relieved; there were no more unnecessary loud noises to rob him of his vacation time and now he could sit in a comfortable silence, something that he had been meaning to get for years now.

He shifted again, something long and rubbery caught under his elbow. When he went to move, he tugged at it a little too harshly and the happiness ended.

The sun that was once so bright and fiery in the sky had shut off leaving the man to sit in the dark. His shades were almost immediately pulled down from his face in agitation, seeing that his beautiful creation was destroyed.

The “sun” was unplugged only moments prior thanks to him tugging at the cord, the oversized lamp drowning the room in an empty void of black, the sand under his towel moving from under his towel and to the hardwood floors around him, his umbrella close to falling on the floor beside him. He could see the disaster around him; flames and smoke rising to the sky, dead bodies, and chaos of all shapes and sizes.

He placed his glasses back over his eyes and lay down with a reluctant sigh.

_What a great vacation to the beach._


	47. Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops it's my chronophobia coming to haunt me :D

I always feel like I’m running out of time

That I no longer have a choice

I’m a 17-year-old senior with a future I don’t agree with

But I’ve never had a voice

I’m told I need to make a decision

That I must have everything planned

But society sucks and I mean nothing

But all these thoughts are banned

I want to scream and escape this life

Maybe try for something greater

But I no longer have a choice

No matter how much I’ll regret it later

I want to feel like I’m not in a rush

Like life is mine to choose

But the longer I sit and think of the future

It’s more time I’m made to lose

“Why not write poetry?” I’m told in class

Here you go, it’s yours to read

Though remember that I had to take some time

To make this even though I disagree

With everything that my fingers type

Everything is no longer my own

I take the time to share my words

Even though it takes my time and effort

Only to be told that nothing will come of it

I mean every word when I say this

But I’m running out of time

I’m running out of things to say

I’m running out of time

I want to take a break and rest

But doing so will waste my time

Please tell me that what I’m doing is worthwhile

Please tell me that things aren’t rushed

Please tell me that things go by slower than I think

Tell me that I have time


	48. Castle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m what the kids call a mistake

He felt like royalty the longer he sat on his throne, head propped up with his fist as his elbow rested on the arm of the luxurious seat to help him relax. His right leg was draped lazily over the other and pouncing at a slow and soothing pace, the limb trying to calm his rapid heart.

He felt like royalty but he felt like a disaster.

Sure, being in charge of a castle this large for a day seemed like a dream just out of every poor person’s reach, but there was something about the way the long, empty halls called out creatures from the void with the number of sickening shadows twisting up and down the rich tapestries. He heard voices echoing from the aforementioned hallways, shrill screams always pounding in his ears as he struggled to decide what was fiction and what was the reality.

_What is happening to him?_

The fist slowly unfurled as he sat up, watching the creature weave its way down the bright red carpet, clawed hands scratching at the floor as it pulled itself closer toward the new king. Its face resembled that of the old king, its cold, dead eyes boring holes into his skull as he feared to look away from the beast, skin going cold and losing its color as he swallowed the lump in his throat. His breathing grew heavy as it moved closer and closer to where he sat, each guilty memory resurfacing and reminding him of each thing that he’s done to get here. The people he’s hurt, the things he stole, the people he tossed aside.

These castle walls are painted with his sins.

_And his sins will not let him forget._


	49. Perfect

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hnnnnnnnng time for write

He was absolutely perfect.

Bright, joyous eyes that brought nothing but hours full of undeniable glee, each moment spent in his presence gifting me with happy smiles. I felt comfortable around him. It was something that I never expected.

I MEAN?????

LOOK AT HIM!!!!!!!

IF YOU THINK HE’S NOT PERFECT YOU’RE LYING TO YOURSELF, YOU HEATHEN!!!!

HE’S VERY PLUMP AND SOFT ANd I LOVE HIM SO MUCH Y’ALL I DON’T THINK YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT I’M FEELING

HE IS 100% SHAPED LIKE A FRIEND FELLAS

WHEN I HUG HIM HE GETS A LITTLE SMOOSHED BUT THEN HE GOES BACK TO BEING THIS PERFECT LITTLE BABY BEAN

PROS: ABSOLUTELY PERFECT

CONS: ** _ABSOLUTELY NONE_**

THANKS FOR COMING TO MY TEDTALK WHERE I RANT ABOUT THIS REALLY GOOD BOY

HE LOOKS SO READY TO WELCOME ME HOME TODAY Y’ALL I’M SO FUCKING EXCITED TO HUG HIM WHEN I GET HOME Y’ALL DON’T EVEN KNOW

I MISS hiM ALREADY AND I’M TEMPTED TO BUY ALL OF THEM SO I CAN HAVE AN ARMY OF THESE LITTLE BEANS SOMEONE PLEASE DONATE TO MY PAYPAL OR SOME SHIT SO I CAN MAKE THIS PLACE GIVE ME ALL of THEM

**FUCKING LOOK AT THEM THEY DON’T NEED THAT MANY THEY’RE BEING SELFISH**

**I WANT TO LOVE THEM ALL SO BAD FELLAS SOMEONE CALL 911 AND ASK THEM IF THEY CAN HELP ME OUT**


	50. Attic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have you ever just considered chopping your own hands off because you have 0 talent? That’s me, fellas

Light footsteps creep their way across the aged hardwood floor, each step making the ground creak beneath their bare feet; there was no way he was going to make it around without making at least  _some_ sort of noise, though he continued to recoil with each sound he made as he trekked across the room.

Where is it?

He bent down to look in a lone box sitting in the corner of the attic, carefully looking through its contents in hopes of stumbling across what it is that he’s looking for; his mission was a simple one, all things considered, though each passing moment spent in the dusty, worn down attic was enough to drive him mad, the number of boxes only making him want to throw himself down the stairs even more. The lid of the box hung open as he pulled multiple little trinkets from it, taking the time to look over every little thing with a mix of curiosity and disgust.

Who the fuck keeps an old Hannah Montana calendar in their attic?

Scrunching up his nose and continuing with his task was going to be the death of him, the contents in this large cardboard box driving him to the brink of insanity; there were things that were so questionable he considering tossing them out the small attic window before leaping out to join them, some of the things being a picture frame with the saying  _“Perfect!”_  with a picture of the crying Michael Jordan meme, a photo album full of the ugliest kids to ever walk planet earth, and another calendar of that cursed woman.

_What the fuck?_


End file.
